


Wandering down this path whilst stopping my hands trembling

by teskodanceparty



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teskodanceparty/pseuds/teskodanceparty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Ellie wishes, during early mornings spent running to the city limits and back, that it was different. That she had a reason for the hardened callouses on her heart when it comes to Lyla other than ‘She’s not my mother.’</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wandering down this path whilst stopping my hands trembling

Ellie Winston is twenty-one - pushing six feet tall with hair that’s bled from blond to auburn in a decade - when Lyla finds her in the shed behind the house she’s lived in since both her parents were still alive. She’s got what she thinks is bottle of what was one of grandad’s favorite single malts, half empty at her feet while she sifts through her life from before.

Lyla knocks on the door jam, asks “What are you lookin’ for, honey?” in a voice sweet enough Ellie has always wondered how dad wasn’t sick from it.

“Just looking,” She says instead, offers the bottle and when Lyla declines, takes a swig that burns and warms her to her toes.

“Kenny and Piper and the boys should be home from school soon, I’ve got to get back to the studio.” Lyla says and Ellie nods, brushes her bangs off of her forehead. She smiles up at Lyla, all bright teeth and not reaching her eyes because it’s hard. It’s so hard for her to even do that little bit, but she tries because Lyla has always been good to them. 

Ellie wishes, during early mornings spent running to the city limits and back, that it was different. That she had a reason for the hardened callouses on her heart when it comes to Lyla other than ‘She’s not my mother.’

“I’m good to watch them Ly, you head out.” Ellie says, and more to strengthen her nerves than to be contrary, she takes a final swig before following her into the house, locking the shed closed behind her.

“Tara’ll be over after her shift, but I should be home before than.” Lyla continues, flipping blond hair over her shoulder, smiling at her.

“Be nice,” Lyla adds, eyebrow quirked, “He won’t stop talking about the time you almost shoved him off the roof at TM.”

Ellie groans, but can’t help the chuckle that bubbles up out of her mouth.

“I thought Thomas would be worse, once they hit puberty; but Abel really takes the fucking cake.” She says, and the genuine smile it earns her is worth the smack on her hip Lyla gives her before pointing towards the jar on the counter labeled ‘Mother Fucking Swear Jar!’

Ellie drops a dollar in and blows a kiss when Lyla walks past on her way out to the car.

 

—

 

The boys storm in like they always do, slamming the screen door against the wall and all of them talking over each other; tossing their backpacks onto the living room floor on their way to the kitchen.

Ellie barely lifts her forehead off of the kitchen table to glare at all four of them, and holds it until Abel shoves Thomas forward and he holds out a yellow rose for towards her.

“I got you a rose because you’re the beatiful-lest, Ellie.” Thomas says, adopting his baby voice like she doesn’t know he swears and spits as much as the rest of them.

“That’s sweet of you Tommy, thank you” she says, looking over at Kenny, who shrugs and points at Abel, mouthing an apology.

Kenny scrunches his face up when she stands, cracking her back while she stretches and it might as well be a punch to the gut, how much he looks like dad just then.

“Come on kiddo, you’ve got homework.” Kenny says as he takes hold of Thomas’ hand and leads him back into the living room. Piper steps around them, smiles up at her as he wraps his arms around her waist for the hug he gives her every day, and Ellie smiles down at him, combing her fingers through his hair.

“Hi Ellie.” He says, and tugs her hand away from his neck, pulling it so he can kiss her palm.

“Hey Pipe, you fill out those applications I left on your desk yet?” She asks, because it’s the fastest way to get him to run from whatever room she’s in.

When she sinks back down into her seat Abel flops down across from her, pulling her hand toward him even as she sighs.

“How was your day, babe?” He asks and grins full out when she scoffs and pulls her hand out of his.

“It was looking up until you got here.” She says and he chuckles, pulling a face of feigned hurt and holding a hand to his chest.

“You’re breakin’ my heart, El.” He says, brushing his hair out of his eyes before grabbing her hand again.

Ellie sighs, because it’s hard, their life, but shooting down a fifteen year old isn’t. She let’s him keep hold of her hand between his own though, and furrows her brow as he traces the scar that goes from the center of her palm to the middle of her forearm.

“I don’t remember, how’d you-” he starts to ask, finally sounding unsure of himself, and she cuts him off.

“Don’t.” She whispers, pulling her hand away from his fingers, is relieved when he let’s her go without question.

“You need help with dinner?” He asks, his voice quiet, and she wants to love him for letting it drop without question as much as she doesn’t.

“Nah,” she says, let’s him pull her hand, the hand without the scar, to his chest and hold it to his heart, “I got this.”

 

—

 

“I have some things you should read.” Abel tells her hours later, and set his school bag on the table. He pulls a three-ring binder out of it, a notebook and loose pages held to it with a rubber band and settles it on her lap.

She opens the binder and gasps, taken aback by an image of her father, fifteen and happy with an arm around Jax’s shoulders, Tara tucked under his other arm. She stares until the image is etched into the back of her eyelids before flipping to the next page.

**The life and death of Sam Crow:  
How the Sons of Anarchy lost their way  
By John Thomas Teller**  
It reads like the word of gods, like a dead man's last wishes, like angels whispering under her skin and Ellie doesn’t know what to think of it other than _’JT was right.’_

 

—

 

There’s a party at the clubhouse with their names scrawled on it, in their blood and bones, and Ellie is teetering on the edge of fuzzily drunk and too drunk to function.

She’s camped out on top of the slide on the swing set when Abel finds her. Even in the dark of the half-deserted yard she can see the clear blue of his eyes, fever bright and shining with things she doesn’t want to think about.

“‘S lookin’ fer you.” He slurs, pulling her legs until she slides down and her feet hit the concrete. He leans his forehead against her shoulder, presses hid mouth sloppily against the exposed skin of her shoulder. She shrugs and smiles when he grumbles at the movement.

“You found me.” She says, and stands when he fumbles and tries to pull her to her feet.

He’s grown half a foot in the last year, so when he stands she finally doesn’t tower over him, and he leans his forehead against hers, beer drenched breath fanning out over her cheeks. He lowers his lashes and his hands go to her hips, fingers digging in.

“Abel, can we not do this tonight?” She asks, pushing away from him and sitting in a swing. She arches an eyebrow at him and she knows he can see her when he grins. He steps around her, grips the chains over where her hands are and squeezes before settling into the swing next to her.

“Mmkay babe.” He murmurs, kicking the side of her boot softly and pushing off. Ellie pushes herself to swing next to him.

“Don’t ‘mmkay babe’ me Teller.” She says, the chains jangling as she twists to shove him.

“We’ll do this, whatever pace ya want.”

“Not what I meant.” She says, rolling her eyes, and stops moving when his fingers tangle with hers around the chains holding her up.

She’s vaguely aware that this whole night is his more than anyone’s, that he’s eighteen, and that she’s losing ground fast against this.

“Yer breakin’ my heart, babe.” He murmurs, so low she almost doesn’t hear him, and Ellie looks over to see his gaze intent on her. She can hear the club still going strong through the walls of the bar, the fire in the barbecue pit is dying down, and the sky is surprisingly clear for the end of a Californian summer.

“Abel, please.” she protests. But when he pulls her towards him she let’s him, twists until their hands are smashed together between the chains of the swings. He leans in, his forehead pressed to her temple and his eyes lock onto hers.

He kisses her, chastely to her surprise, and he tastes like the beers he’s had to drink and she wants to feel something more than terrible for this. She just manages it when he pulls away, his hand fisted in her hair, and his breath fanning out over her cheeks.

“Abel.” She whispers, and it’s not cold enough for the tremor that runs through him. He nods, his lips grazing the corner of her mouth.

“It’s good, we’ve got this handled, it’s alright.” He says, sounding more sober than he had before they’d kissed.

“I don’t believe that for a fucking second.” She says, burying her face in the front of his shirt and letting him drag his fingers through her hair.

“Let me show you.” He whispers, mouth pressed to her cheek and her mouth is open to speak when the door to the bar slams open. They jump apart and she takes the opportunity to walk as fast as she can to her car, pretending she doesn’t hear Abel calling her name as she runs.

 

—

 

She doesn’t try to avoid him, because it’d be pointless to. Samcro is in her blood, scratched into her bones, the scabs on her brother’s knees, and every scar between the five of them. Besides which, she’s baby sat every one of those boys for years. She knows them and they know her, it still takes her time; she has to step away and think. 

When Tara sees her slouched over a notebook at her dining room table and tells her, “You remind me so much of Ope sometimes, Ellie,” she let’s herself cry for the first time since his funeral.

Abel pulls into the driveway of her family home and kills the engine before tossing his helmet off. She doesn’t see him, but she can hear it, and Thomas giggling in the yard from the kitchen window as he greets his brother. They slam through the doors, tossing his things on the floor of the living room before finding her doing the dishes.

“Hey El.” Abel calls in greeting and she waves a soapy hand at him. She smiles, and it’s real, reaches her eyes stretches her mouth wide and it seems to take him by surprise. Thomas looks between them, and grins before running into the living room and turning on Jerry Springer, turning it up loud.

“Okay.” she says, turns towards him and wipes her hands dry on the front of her jeans. His head tilts, he’s gotten a haircut since she last saw him and he looks a little older for it.

“Okay?” He asks, brows furrowed like he can’t decide whether to laugh or not.

“Show me, Teller.” She whispers, and won’t meet his eyes. He inhales sharply, is across the room in her space and crowding her against the sink with his hands on her face.

“Yeah?” He whispers with his mouth over hers and she shakes her head, putting the space that needs to be between them there, because she can’t, not like that, not with Abel.

“We got this.” she whispers back, because they do, all of them; Thomas and Kenny and Piper and her and Abel. This club is in their blood like a poison to be drawn out that they’ll let slide, and it’ll drag them down. But maybe if they do this together, if they can take after their parents in all the best ways and cut the bad parts out, maybe they won’t drown.


End file.
